You’ve probably seen the pic that prompted a sea of double takes: Austria’s Conchita Wurst, decked out in a gold evening gown and sporting full facial hair, clutching the winning trophy. The message here is a clear and admirable one: Wurst is a symbol of gender tolerance, and the vote can largely be interpreted as a collective middle finger to Russia’s Putin-fueled anti-LGBT xenophobic policies.

That’s great, but something has been lost in the shuffle.

The song.

The majority of news outlets reporting the victory didn’t even mention that “Rise Like a Phoenix,” a melodramatic English-language anthem cleverly disguised as a non-existent James Bond film theme (assuming its usual montage of naked women all sport five o’clock shadow), was the tune that won the whole enchilada for Wurst.

Not that the publicity would have helped sales anyhow: Eurovision’s track record for selecting songs that people actually like enough to go out and buy has been abysmal. If you were a bookie, you’d have better odds picking your nose.

Only one Eurovision Song Contest winner — that’s a singular number out of 1,100 submitted over the past 59 years — has gone on to become a worldwide smash and actually launched a career: that’s 1974 victor “Waterloo,” a goldmine for Sweden’s ABBA.

A few other finalists — not overall winners — have gone on to make a global splash, but you still have to turn the time machine back almost 50 years to find the first one: Domenic Mudugno’s 1958 smash “Nel Blu Dipinto Di Blu” — or “Volare,” to you, and Mocedades’ 1972 hit “Eres Tu.”

Add to those the regional hits (geographically speaking) of some participating countries, and you can count those that made any significant impact on the fingers of one hand (excluding your thumb).

Even our own Céline Dion, who won the whole she-bang for Switzerland in 1988, tanked big time with her entry, the deservingly retention-free “Ne Partez Pas Sans Moi.”

Raise your hands if you’ve either heard or remember such Eurovision Song Contest winners like “Dansevise,” “Boom Bang-a-Bang” or “Hard Rock Hallelujah.”

Thought so.

There is one area, however, where the Eurovision Song Contest has really excelled: stirring controversy. In order to titillate a healthy TV viewership averaging 120 million per airing, audiences have been subjected to rockers in monster masks (Lordi), a pole dancer (Svetlana Loboda), a male troupe wearing silver hot pants (InCulto) and, in one of the rare occasions where an act has actually made a North American splash, the faux-lesbian duo t.A.t.U., the latter hailing ironically, from Russia.

Maybe a new name is in order: how about the Eurovision Three-Ring Circus? Because it’s certainly ignoring the elephant in the room: the actual lack of successful songs deemed the best by the contest itself.

A rechristening and rebranding would certainly save Eurovision from further embarrassment when it comes to achieving tangible results — for better or Wurst.

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